


South Park Holiday Drabble Bomb 2017

by PBJellie



Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Lights, Mistletoe, Multi, Real short, Snow, South Park Drabble Bomb, Traditions, scarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/pseuds/PBJellie
Summary: Five short drabbles relating to the holiday season for drabble bomb.1. First Snow - The Goth Kids2. Traditions - Randy Marsh and Stan Marsh3. Scarf - Heidi Turner and Eric Cartman4. Lights - Ned, Jimbo, and Randy5. Mistletoe - Damien/PipAlso this is legit me pretending I don't have two other fics to write.





	1. First Snow - The Goth Kids

“Ugh, stupid conformists.” Michael drew a drag on a cigarette, letting the ash fall of the end and drop to the ground smoldering. 

“Yea, the normies with their holiday traditions, it's unbearable.” Henrietta pointed a long fingernail towards a group of fourth graders staring at the clouds above. “It's so not goth. Christmas is the least goth holiday.” She sighed. 

“It's just snow. It happens every year.” Pete groaned, flipping his hair as the other kids started to cheer as snow finally fell. “For a time when everything is dying, winter is pretty lame.” A collective sigh from the group. 

“The red of blood in fresh snow would be pretty goth though.” Firkle spoke up, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Yeah, that would be pretty goth.” Pete agreed as the group agreed. They stood in silence as the other children ran wild. A group of girls approached sketch books in hand. 

“Excuse me, can we sit here?” There was collective chatter in a foreign language before the girl at the front spoke again. “This spot is the best to see Tweek and Craig playing in the snow.” The air burned their cheeks as they frowned at the Asian girls. 

“Stupid conformists, it'll be snowing for at least four more months.” Michael blew a ring of smoke as he sat down on the stairs behind the cafeteria. The girls started to scream, jumping up and down. The goths just sighed and rolled their eyes. 

“Oh my God! Craig just gave his jacket to Tweek! They're moving down the street, we've got to go.” More screaming. “I bet they're going to get a coffee from the cafe!” And like that the Asian girls were out of the goth kids space. 

“It's not even like the movies are good. Rudolph, moral of the story, conform of be useful.” A collective groan. “I hope Satan strikes me down before I become a conformist freak.” Michael rubbed the burning cigarette on the steps, watching the first snowflakes melt.

“I bet it's just like, Mariah Carey this, Taylor Swift that. God, I'm so glad we don't buy into their standards of happiness.” Henrietta brushed snow off of her black dress as the rest of the group nodded. 

“Happiness is a made up concept.” Firkle droned. “No one is really happy, they just say they are so no one asks questions.” There was a general agreement through groaning and grunting. 

“Michael let me bum a cig, would you?” Pete asked, hands out of his pockets, his nose red from the cold. Jackets were decidedly not goth. 

“Yeah, they're Camels though because that's what my dad smokes.” Pete grabbed for the pack as the rest of the group grumbled about the conformists. Everyone knew that hand rolling your own cigarettes was goth. Camels were not goth. 

“Weak, don't take the upside down one.” Michael complained as Pete fished for a lighter.

“Do you really believe that poison they teach us at school? There is no magic in turning a cigarette upside down.” Pete spoke around the cigarette, lips turning into a smile. “Sounds like someone has been spending too much time with those losers.” 

“Fuck the snow.” Firkle huffed as he stood up. “The Village Inn has heat and coffee.” 

“Coffee, black like my soul.” Henrietta shook the snow off of her head as she nodded.

“Yeah, let's blow this joint.” Michael added as he trailed behind the group. 

“Blow this joint isn't goth either.” Pete snorted as they walked down the street away from the school. 

“I'm such a non conformist that I'm not going to conform to your idea of a non conformist.” Michael jabbed, kicking his feet through the snow as he walked.

“That's deep.” Firkle mumbled.


	2. Traditions - Randy and Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randy and Stan add on to tradition.

Maybe the coupon book had been a bad idea. 

It was tradition for Stan to give his parents a hastily made book of multicolored card stock for Christmas. Normally it was scribbled in for things like “one load of dishes” and “one free hug.” It had been a mistake to add in the “one free bike riding lesson.” 

Randy was not a quick learner. 

“Stanley, you're going to have to go on without me! Never forget your Pop-Pop loves you!” Randy had crumpled to the ground 

“Dad,” Stan groaned, dismounting from his bike, leaning it against the snowy ground. This was the fourth time this had happened. Stan pulled his hat down on his head and made his way down the street to pick up his father. 

“No, Stanley,” Randy groaned on the asphalt. “It's hopeless.” Stan pressed his red mitten to his face, pinching his nose. He then bent over to grab his father by the elbow pad. “Daddy needs a beer, Stan.” 

“Dad, you just need to keep pedaling your bike.” Randy stood up, dusting his knee pads off. His helmet was titled to the side.

“I was pedaling.” Randy was rolling his eyes as he sat back on the orange bicycle. 

“You weren't. That's why you flipped over the front of the handle bars.” They repeated the process a few more times before Stan agreed to Randy walking the bike two blocks home. 

“This counts as your coupon.” Stan muttered as they walked into the house, leaving their bikes in the snowy yard.

“What a scrounge.” Randy cursed as he popped open a Pabst Blue Ribbon. They were gluten free so it was acceptable to be drinking at three pm on Christmas day. That was Randy's opinion on the matter anyway. 

“Stanley?” His mother's voice called from the kitchen. “Get the table ready for me.” Sharron was making a ham, even though he had said over and over again that Kyle couldn't eat ham. She was insistent that he could just eat the sides, adding that it was a special treat to allow Kyle to into the family tradition of the family dinner. 

Stan knew that the real tradition was for his father to fall asleep at the table before they carved the ham. Then his mother would make him and Shelley watch “A Christmas Story” before kissing them on the head and heading up to bed. Lastly, the two of them would steal candy canes from the Christmas tree and take turns playing whatever new video games had shown up under the tree. 

But Stan diligently set the table anyway, pulling his mittens off and stuffing them into his coat pockets. His father was in the living room setting up the Gamesphere for Shelley, his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he fumbled with the AV cords. 

Within short order they were all around a table. Kyle sat to Stan's left, smiling as he smashed a mountain of mashed potatoes. Randy had even stayed awake long enough to get in a few mouthfuls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No lies Randy eating it on the bike is a favorite part of the season for me.


	3. Scarf - Heidi and Cartman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heidi and Eric have a dispute over a scarf.

“Just give me my scarf back, please.” Heidi called through a shut door. “My Nan gave it to me last year and I don't want to forget it.” 

“Poopsykins is just upset about the break-up is all. I bet if you got back together he'd find your scarf in a snap.” Liane Cartman hummed as she walked down the hallway with a basket of laundry. Heidi thought she saw a pair of underwear without anything covering the butt, but she quickly looked away. She had learned not to look too closely at Liane or her things. 

“I am not getting back together with Eric, Ms. Cartman.” Heidi could hear sniffling on the otherside of the door. She rolled her eyes, opting to pound of the door again. 

“Oh well, my little bunny keeps threatening to kill himself, he's so upset about this whole mess.” Liane climbed down the stairs waving to Heidi. Heidi did not wave back. 

“Just give me the scarf and I will go home.” She hit the door again, sliding down the side in defeat. She stared at the picture of Cartman with his head in his hands smiling for the camera. It was last years school picture day and he didn't seem like an intolerable monster. She could hear him crying loudly now. 

“Please Eric. Please just let this be over.” He was growing hysterical. Heidi buried her head in her hands before elbowing the door one last time for good measure. 

“Imma get Cupid Me to pee in your mouth and then you'll love me again.” Heidi shuddered at the though. 

“Did you pee in my mouth? You boys are so gross.” She let out a groan before pushing off of the floor. Maybe a scarf her Nan had knitted her for Christmas last year wasn't worth it. Even if the scarf had little white snowmen lovingly added. 

No, she resolved herself. That was her scarf. Eric did not just get to keep her things hostage. 

“I'm going to tell my Dad if you don't give it back.” She huffed, kicking the door with a black winter boot. This was not how she envisioned her holiday break. 

“If I give it back, are we together again? I need you Heidi. You complete me.” He was sobbing. “I love you.”

“You aren't capable of loving people. Not really.” She sighed. “Just give me the scarf and we can pretend this never happened.” 

“But I don't want to forget you Heidi! I love you!” He sounded like he was choking. She hit the door again. 

“Eric, I want my scarf.” 

“Then you shouldn't have left it here.” In hindsight it had been dumb to not let Wendy and Bebe do this for her. They had offered multiple times with big sympathetic eyes, like she was damaged. She wasn't damaged. She could get her stuff back by herself. 

Or she had thought.

Heidi was realizing just because she had thought something, that it was not necessarily true. 

The door cracked open and she could see Eric Cartman in his teddy bear pajamas with his gut hanging over the waistband. There was a time when she thought they were cute, smiling and mouth open. Now they only looked deranged to her. Maybe it was just a shift in mindset. 

“You look nice.” Eric wiped his nose on his shoulder, leaving snot in a bear's mouth. She shuddered. He had been attractive to her at one point. Once she had thought that this person, mouth slack, eyes red, belly out, and nose dripping was cute. 

She looked down at her green jacket, barely able to button over her stomach. She did not look nice, she thought. She couldn't remember the last time she looked nice. Maybe it was before Eric. Maybe it was before she dropped her phone in the river. It was hard to be certain. Nothing felt clear anymore.

“Just hand over the scarf.” Her hand was out, nose turned up in disgust. He reached into his pajama top, which looked sticky with sweat upon further inspection. He pulled out the long blue scarf, seemingly having threaded it through both of his armpits. He flashed his teeth as he wrapped it around her neck. 

“Goodbye Eric.” She quickly said as she ran down the stares and out of the house. She could smell his body odor on the scarf as she desperately tried to remove it. 

She decided that if she couldn't get the smell out that she could always burn it. 

As long as Eric didn't have it.


	4. Lights - Jimbo, Ned, and Randy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimbo and Ned let lose some vigilante justice on Christmas decorations.

“It's January 10th. Shoot it!” Jimbo hollered from the driver's seat of his truck. It was fifteen nights after Christmas. Time for the Christmas lights to be down. 

“Mmkay,” Ned pressed a hand to his throat, replying in a raspy flat tone. “Buck.” And he cocked his gun, aiming for an animated deer nodding in and out of the Marsh's front yard. There was a pop sound, then a strangled meow. The deer continued to move.

“Aw, Ned, I think ya got Stanley's cat, not the deer.” Jimbo put on the breaks, shifting into park. Ned rattled around in the bed, knocking his shoulder against a wheel well. He recovered quickly, dropping his pellet gun and using his one good arm to pull himself up. 

“Sorry.” 

“It's alright, we'll just taser the fucker.” Jimbo had popped the back of the truck, helping Ned to the snowy ground. He straightened Ned's bandanna and squared up his glasses. 

“Thank you.” Ned flatly hummed. 

“Yeah, we're buddies.” Jimbo shrugged it off. He was looking into his half brother's yard at the monstrosity of Christmas decorations still aglow. Jimbo was all for keeping the Christ in Christmas, but he felt that Jesus had enough time in the spotlight for the season. 

They crunched through the snow, until they snuck behind the deer. It moved it's head up and down rhythmically. “Now Ned, when I say three go ahead and put that son of a bitch in a choke hold and tase 'em.” Ned nodded slightly, lit by the Christmas lights. 

“Three!” Jimbo screamed as Ned sprang at the deer, throwing it to the ground. The metal crinkled and the motor of the neck whirled. Ned dug around in his pocket pulling out a small black taser. He pulled the trigger, catching himself in the leg. 

“Ah, Ned! I'll help ya!” Jimbo jumped onto Ned who was shaking somewhat violently. The deer was still lit, and the nativity behind them still had a very peaceful baby Jesus, surrounded by Mary, Joseph, and farm animals. 

“What's going on out here! Get out of here kids!” Randy Marsh opened the front door, stumbling down the steps, sloshing a full glass of red wine as he staggered towards the fight. 

“Fuck you Randy!” Jimbo called out as he tried to punch the deer in the head. The metal wiring wasn't very conducive to taking hits, instead Jimbo's hand got stuck. Ned was perfectly still in the snow. 

“Jimbo? Ned? Why the hell are you in my yard? A man's yard is his sanctuary!”

“It's time to take the damn decorations down Randy. It's been time for a week.” Jimbo rose to his feet, ripping the light up deer head off of it's body as he swung his hands around.

“Screw you! I thought this was America. This is infringing on my American freedom to Christmas and baby Jesus in a manger.” Randy spilled some wine onto the snow as he grabbed Jimbo by the collar.

“Look what your decorations did to Ned. He's a war hero! He served in 'Nam. You should apologize.” Jimbo swung towards Randy's face as he spoke, bringing the deer head through the air. The deer had finally gone dim. 

“That was Rudolph, you dipshit.” Randy hollered as they tumbled towards the Nativity scene.

There were calls from neighbors for silence, something about it being the middle of the night. Randy and Jimbo were too far gone, throwing punches in the middle of the manager. Jimbo kicked Mary over while Randy elbowed a few of the barn animals over in the process. They threw curses as Jimbo grabbed for the baby, tossing him into the backyard. 

Jimbo scrambled to his feet, pushing Joseph as he ran to pick up Ned. They scrambled to the pick-up truck as a very drunk Randy fell asleep under the wooden slats of the nativity.

Jimbo started the car, peeling out down the street with the wire deer head still stuck to his hand. 

“I heard the McCormick's still have a Christmas wreath up.” Ned replied as they drove down the street. 

“Let's go teach 'em a lesson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one might be my favorite.


	5. Mistletoe - Damien and Pip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damien and Pip fluff to end out the fluff. 
> 
> Sorry it's late.

“What, it's not like there is a holiday celebrating my birth!” Damien yelled at his father. “It's dumb that we are celebrating Christmas. You are Satan!” 

“Damien, I know that you're upset, but I let your little friend come.” Satan pointed one red hand towards a blonde boy hovering around a punch bowl. 

“He's not my little friend.” Damien's high pitched voice screeched. 

“Damien, you snuck into his apartment and watched him sleep. You obviously like this boy.” The blonde boy made a face when he tasted the punch. Hitler had probably spiked it again. 

He did that every year, it wasn't even clever anymore. Everything was so tedious in Hell. Damien supposed that was the point.

“Satan, come over here, we've got the mistletoe,” Saddam's voice broke through the awkward silence Damien and his father had been sharing. Damien did not like Saddam. His father was too caring and Saddam took advantage of Satan at every available turn. 

The blonde boy waved to Damien, tossing his cup aside. Damien pulled his sweater up over his mouth, trying to disappear into a nonexistent crowd. 

“Oh Damien! It's lovely to see you, chap. This is a wonderful party, don't you think? There's something off about the punch, but maybe it's just hell punch. This is my first proper party in hell, you know? Are they always like this? This is quite enjoyable.”

“Pip, it's hell. It's not supposed to be 'quite enjoyable.' Do you have to be so French even now, on the worse day of the whole damn year?” Pip frowned as Damien spoke. 

“I'm not French, I'm British. You know that. I'd think you were putting me on if we weren't such great friends.” Pip smiled, looking around the red and green hellscape. 

“We're not friends.” Damien, corrected, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Well you came to my house the other day, it was like a play date.” Pip was still smiling. Pip was always smiling. It drove Damien nuts. 

“I broke into your home. I busted a window, that's not a play date, it's a robbery.” 

“This is a lot of talk about semantics for me. I'd call it a play date. Why are you so glum today? It's Christmas. We could go drink so more of that dreadful punch!” Pip's face lit up, brown hat sliding to the side. Damien gently nudged it square onto his head. 

“The punch is alcoholic. Hitler and Mussolini pull this shit every year. I'm so bored, let's go somewhere else. Maybe I'll turn you into a firework again. That seems festive.” Damien grabbed the ten year old's hand, pulling him through a doorway to the backyard. 

“Ah, ah, ah! Mistletoe, you have to kiss!” Saddam stood over the boys, pointing to a red and green flower above them. 

“I don't want to. I don't have to listen to you!” Damien screamed, eyes glowing. 

“Son, just kiss your little friend. You don't have to be such a pill, just because it's not your birthday.” Satan sloshed his drink onto the ground as he spoke. 

“I don't-” And before Damien could finish his thought, Pip was on his tiptoes, pressing soft lips into Damien. A quick peck, and then Pip dragged the other boy to the backyard. 

Damien had a fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, Jesus wasn't such a terrible guy after all.


End file.
